To Sail a Darkling Sea - eARC

by John Ringo

  “Division, Shewolf,” Faith said. “To answer your probable question, two to three days depending on infected level. Probably not a lot of survivors at this point. Over.”

  “Roger, we will clear ground infecteds, then you can proceed to clearance ops on the vessel. After that, the town.”

  “Roger, Division,” Faith said. “Glad we brought the heavy stuff.”

  * * *

  “Shit,” Chen said. “This is not the optimum outcome.”

  The chosen spot for engaging the infected with machine gun was what appeared on the charts to be an old jetty, possibly the original harbor or an old marina. There was a shoal that was clearly an old seabreak that came out from land and made a dogleg to the south. There was a small bit of it that still extended above the water at high tide and connected to the land.

  Their usual antics had attracted a huge crowd of infected to the spit of land where they’d brutalized them come dawn. Unfortunately, the main jetty to seaward was close enough that more infected had gathered there. He had notionally planned on turning the division around and engaging them second. But when the usual seabirds descended on the carnage left by the MaDeuce, the group had started to mill around and break up. By the time they did the usual bit of picking up their anchors and spinning around to engage, the group would be so spread out it would take forever to hunt them all down with the .50s.

  “Division, Shewolf, over.”

  Just what he needed. A thirteen-year-old with a question. She probably wanted tips on playing with dolls.

  “Go, Ground Clearance Officer.”

  “Infected on south jetty breaking up. Request permission to put a couple down by rifle fire. The snacks should keep them around until you can adjust to engage with the Mas. Over.”

  Or, he could have the Marines shoot a couple…

  “Confirm, Shewolf. Good call.”

  “Staff Sergeant Januscheitis’s idea, over. Engaging. Shewolf out.”

  And she gave credit where credit was due. Chen shook his head and made a note in his personal log.

  “There’s a couple over to the left,” he called over the loudhailer. “Don’t stint the ammo… ”

  There was a crackle of rifle fire from the No Tan Lines. It was nice to have proactive and intelligent subordinates…

  * * *

  “What is with everybody putting holes in the side of boats?” Faith asked.

  The current offense to the lieutenant’s sensibilities was the embarkation port on the port side of the cruise ship. The large port had a gangway that led from the wharf, now clear of infecteds, into the dark interior of the cruise ship.

  “So… Boadicea?” PFC Kirby said. “Is that Spanish? Sounds like ‘BOHICA’ to me.”

  “Are you asking me, PFC?” Januscheitis said. “It at least makes entry easy, ma’am.”

  “And I suppose we should do so,” Faith said, sighing. “Lights.”

  * * *

  “Okay, this is not quite the carnival of carnage I’d expected, ma’am,” Januscheitis said. Most of the watertight doors on the ship were closed, and while they were finding infected, most of them were long dead. Some of them were, yes, children. And there were some well-gnawed bodies of others. But even that was minimal. The ship looked as if it had been cleared before the Plague took hold.

  “Feelin’ the same way, Staff Sergeant,” Faith said. She was even checking cabins. Most of them had either no human presence or dead infecteds. Some of the lower, interior, “cheap” cabins had infecteds tied to beds. Some of them had gotten lose and fed but most had clearly died there. There were some kids and that was always tough, but not many. It looked as if the cruise leaned more to adults. She could handle dead adults. And none of them had the “death camp” look of the dead passengers on the Voyage. Which just meant they’d died of dehydration instead of starvation. They were finding essentially zero “dead of dehydration or starvation” clothed bodies. “And not complaining.”

  * * *

  “Okay,” Faith said. “Again, creepy. Where’d the people go?”

  The team was on its second day of laboriously clearing the ship. It wasn’t huge but it was complicated. And every compartment had to be checked, cleared and marked. What they were not finding so far were either survivors or even many infected. And all the infected they were finding had been trapped in interior areas without food or water. That spelt death for infecteds just as much as humans.

  “Up to eight hundred and eighty passengers according to the brochure we found, ma’am,” PFC Kirby replied. “And three hundred thirty crew. I think we’ve counted, maybe, a hundred dead, ma’am? So, I dunno.”

  They’d broken up into two-man teams to spread the wealth. It had been a toss-up between Kirby and Rodas to accompany Faith. Staff Sergeant Januscheitis had suggested Corporal Douglas accompany the LT. Faith had pointed out that the Corporal was one of their leadership personnel, as was she, so he should take one of the Lance Corporals or a PFC. Which on its face was pretty hard to argue. Especially when she added “That is how we’re going to do it, Staff Sergeant.”

  Besides, it wasn’t like she couldn’t do this in her sleep. Had done it in her sleep.

  “I think this thing is even useable,” Faith said. The ship was in surprisingly good shape. The infecteds hadn’t penetrated into any of the machinery spaces they’d found and except for some minor damage it all looked shipshape. The bridge was in good shape, that was for sure. It had been sealed but they’d found a key-card that would allow access. And there were no infected in it. “Which would be good, since we’re running out of space on the big boats.”

  Kirby went to open a watertight door and Faith put her hand on his arm.

  “PFC?” She said. “Zombies don’t like… ?”

  “Impolite people, Skipper,” Kirby said, banging on the hatch with the butt of his M4.

  It was only the four hundredth time she’d had to tell him.

  There was a distant clanging in response.

  “I think we’ve got customers,” Faith said. “Open away, PFC.”

  The next corridor would have been pretty darned gross if she hadn’t seen it all before. It was, now, a good sign. Five gallon buckets once full of rations now full of shit and piss. Dead bodies lined up against the bulkhead. The sure sign of survivors. There were four bodies which were still wearing clothing. She knew what that meant. One of a million reasons she hoped she was never stuck in a compartment.

  “I’m going to crack the hatch,” she shouted through the watertight door. “I’ll toss in a chem-light so you can adjust your eyes!”

  CHAPTER 10

  If you weigh well the strength of the armies, and the causes of the war, you will see that in this battle you must conquer or die. This is a woman’s resolve; as for men, they may live and be slaves

  Queen Boadicea of the Iceni

  Tacitus

  “Bloody hell, I’ve never in my life been this happy to see Yanks.”

  Second Officer, Staff, Becky Kyle was the senior survivor they’d found. And they’d found a lot of survivors.

  “Feel the love,” Faith said. The survivors had been escorted up to a café on the lounge deck. There were some windows with external light but it was mid-line and thus not brightly lit. They were all still suffering from photosensitivity. The café was getting fairly crowded and even some children had survived, which was a rarity. “But I’ll take that for somebody who managed to keep this many people alive. How did you, anyway?”

  “When the plague was announced, the government put us in quarantine,” Third Officer Darren Arras said. “It was already on the island but they locked us down, anyway. We… segregated the infected. We tried to manage them but… ”

  “We ended up taking them into some of the empty economy cabins,” Kyle said then shrugged. “There wasn’t much we could… ” she frowned and shook her head.

  “We found them,” Faith said. “If it’s any consolation, New York City had warehouses that looked like that.”


  “The quarantine wasn’t so much lifted as things just started falling apart,” Kyle continued. “Some of the passengers left the boat to find someplace on land. The ship’s officers left with some friends on a yacht.”

  “Gotta love the loyalty,” Januscheitis said.

  “Normal,” Faith said. “Same thing happened on the Voyage.”

  “Voyage Under Stars?” Arras said. “I’m glad I wasn’t on that bloody floating abattoir.”

  “Abat… ” Faith said. “Oh, slaughterhouse. Yeah. Pretty much covers it.”

  “The team only got about a hundred people off the Voyage,” Januscheitis said, then gestured at Faith. “The Lieutenant… ”

  “Not important,” Faith said. “How did you manage to keep so many people alive?”

  “First Officer Zastrow,” Kyle said. “When it came apart, the First Officer requested passengers and crew fall back on the stores compartments. We… secured ourselves. There were water spigots from the main water stores. As long as that held out… ”

  “We did the same thing on the Iwo Jima,” Januscheitis said. “But there was no plan. Just chaos.”

  “I’d like to officially say as a representative of what is left of the United States Government that you and your crew did one hell of a job,” Faith said. “Better than any group we’ve found so far. In one of those stores compartments, I regret to tell you, the infecteds gained control. But you kept a lot of people alive. More than anyone could think possible.”

  “We had to… ” Kyle said, then looked away. “There were some people, passengers and crew, in our compartment… ”

  “That couldn’t handle the strain,” Januscheitis said. “And had to be dealt with.”

  “Which is one of the reasons we hold to ‘what happened in the compartment, stays in the compartment,’” Faith said.

  “One of our stewards kept trying to open the door,” Arras said, wincing. “We couldn’t keep him from trying. And we couldn’t keep him tied up all the time. Finally, there was an… incident.”

  “What happens in the compartment, stays in the compartment,” Januscheitis said. “We’ll get some of the ‘Welcome to Wolf Squadron’ brochures printed up. Mostly it’s about making sure that people don’t think that what happened in the compartment is still okay after you get out. As soon as we’ve ensured the ship is free of infected, you can have the run of it.”

  “However,” Faith said. “There is the issue of usage. And support. We’re almost entirely marine-based at this point. We’ve only cleared a few of these small towns and they’re only rough-cleared. We need people to help and we need this ship to tote those people. We’re running out of room with the ships that we’ve got. Which is good, it means more survivors. But we still need this ship. It’s in good shape compared to most we find and it’s fully ocean capable. So… ”

  “I can’t exactly contact the owners for permission,” Kyle said, drily. “I’m not sure how the passengers will take it.”

  “I generally start with ‘it’s better than being eaten.’” Faith said.

  * * *

  “Is your Lieutenant as young as she looks?” Kyle asked Januscheitis when they had a moment alone.

  “Younger,” Januscheitis said. “Thirteen.”

  “Bloody hell,” Kyle said. “How does one become a Marine lieutenant at thirteen?”

  “Well, it helps that her father is the senior officer that’s not trapped somewhere and is acting Commander Atlantic Fleet,” Januscheitis said. “But mostly it’s a matter of being one of the four people who cleared the Voyage of infecteds. And from what they said, about half the passengers and crew survived. As infecteds. How’d you put it? ‘Bloody abattoir.’ They went through twenty thousand rounds of ammunition in three weeks.”

  “Oh,” Kyle said, clearly envisioning what the blindsided battle must have been like in the cave-black caverns of the massive “super-max” cruise liner. “Hell. That had to be… ”

  “Clearing this was a walk in the park for her,” Januscheitis said. “You can tell she’s happy we found so many survivors and bored with the few dozen infected. There’s a video of her boarding the Voyage that’s both frightening and hilarious. She gets repeatedly dogpiled by infected and comes up over and over again, having killed them all. Which is why we call her Shewolf and us big, tough devil-dogs follow her around like, well, puppies.”

  “You do know who Boadicea was, right?” Kyle said.

  “No,” Januscheitis said. “We figured it was Spanish or something.”

  “Really?” Kyle said, obviously trying not to laugh. “Seriously… ?”

  * * *

  “Okay, so, mission for today is… ” Faith said, then paused, flicking off her safety. “Kirby, two steps left.”

  “Two steps left, aye,” Kirby said, taking two steps to the left.

  Faith lifted her AK and fired twice.

  “Clearing this town,” she continued, flicking her safety back on as the two infected that had been loping down Paseo De Fred Olsen dropped. “Which obviously needs some additional clearance.”

  “Ma’am,” Januscheitis said, raising his hand.

  “Staff Sergeant?”

  “Point of order. Found out what ‘Boadicea’ means. Sorta funny story… ”

  * * *

  “Command, Team Two.”

  “Command,” Faith said. She could hear the crack of rounds over the radio call from Januscheitis team.

  “We’ve hit a big concentration of infected on... Calle Mahona or something. About fifty. Oh, and we’re sort of lost… ”

  “Can you break contact?” Faith asked, waving for Derek to stop.

  “Roger,” Januscheitis said.

  “Try to rendezvous at… Calle de la Era. It’s back towards the port. There’s a little square on the map. We’ll meet you there.”

  “We’ll try to find it,” Januscheitis said.

  “We’ll set up a kill zone there,” Faith said. “Try to lead them back.”

  “Don’t think that’s going to be a problem… ”

  “See if you can get this thing turned around, Derek.”

  “Aye, aye, ma’am.”

  * * *

  “So why don’t we use .308 as a rifle round?” Faith asked looking through binoculars at the oncoming infected tumbling before the MG240.

  “It’s heavy, ma’am?” Januscheitis said, taking a sip of water. It had taken the team some time to find their way around the twisty streets of the town and back to the square at the intersection of Calle De La Era and Calle Del Guincho. “It overkills?” he added as one of the tracers passed through an infected and pinged into the distance.

  “There is no such thing as ‘overkill,’ Staff Sergeant,” Faith said.

  “There is only ‘Open fire’ and ‘Reloading,’ yes, ma’am,” Januscheitis said. “You can carry more five five six. And, yes, I am doing the math, ma’am. Given five rounds of five five six, it would be less weight to carry three oh eight. You can’t fire it on full auto. But nobody who has any sense fires full auto anyway. I dunno, ma’am. One of those mysteries of the military, I guess.”

  “I suspect it’s some deeply laid plot,” Faith said. “There were Pentagon weanies involved.”

  “There usually are, ma’am,” Januscheitis said. “I think they’re all winnowed down.”

  “And I can see survivors waving from a rooftop,” Faith said, lowering the binos. “Now if we can just figure out how to find them in this maze… ”

  * * *

  “Hello!” Faith said through the bullhorn. “This rescue is courtesy of the American taxpayers and the United States Marine Corps… ”

  * * *

  “Where the hell are these all coming from?” Derek asked, reloading.

  “See all these little alleyways?” Faith said. She’d unassed from the little Toyota SUV they’d been using and was covering the rear.

  “It was sort of rhetorical, ma’am,” Corporal Douglas said.

  “Who gave you permission t
o use a three letter word, Corporal?” Faith said, dropping three infecteds with three shots.

  “Freaking Barbie gun!” Kirby shouted, as the infected continued to stumble forward despite putting what felt like half a mag into him. “Die already!”

  “Oh, let me handle this,” Faith said, turning around. She dropped the remaining five infected forward and dropped her still partial magazine for a reload. “I swear five five six is designed to just piss bad guys off.”

  “I’m starting to see what you mean, Skipper… ”

  * * *

  “Any other issues?” Lieutenant Chen asked.

  Most of the survivors of the Boadicea were pitching in with a will to help clear it. A survey and recovery team, including a master mariner and a qualified engineer, were on the way from the Squadron. The Division was to stay in place until they arrived.

  There had been thirty-two survivors found in San Sebastian De La Gomera. Together with the survivors from La Puntilla and La Playa, that made forty-eight survivors from a total of about four thousand inhabitants. Which was bloody awful.

  “Patrick tells me we’ve sustained what appears to be a deadline,” Sophia said, raising her hand. “Oil pump for the tranny is out. He can probably jury-rig something, but there aren’t any parts in any of the parts places here in Gomera for it. And it would be a jury-rig. I’d hate to have it crap out on us at sea. You know how rough it can get.”

  “I’m sure,” Chen said, drily. “I find this convenient, Lieutenant. Wouldn’t have anything to do with a really sweet seventy-five, would it?”

  The marina of San Sebastian De La Gomera was huge compared to La Puntilla or La Playa. And it still had quite a few boats in it. Most were sailboats, which the flotilla couldn’t use, or small “fast” boats, outboards or inboard outboards. But a few large motor yachts had been left behind. And one of them, a 75' Maiora, Bella Senorita, was just sweet as hell. Benefits included that it was in working order and hadn’t been torn up by infecteds. Not to mention the marble counters and hot tub.

  “Well, sir, that’s a point I hadn’t considered,” Sophia said, seriously. “We could use a bigger support boat for the Division, sir.”